


built to fall apart (and back together)

by weareonceinalifetime



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Liam, Surfer Liam, and this story needed to be told there, holiday fic, mentions of dani/liam but it's all explained so, set in southern california because that's where my heart is happiest, this was supposed to be under 5k whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:32:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weareonceinalifetime/pseuds/weareonceinalifetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuck, Liam,” Zayn growls. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”</p>
<p>And then, before Liam has time to process, Zayn is kissing him hard.</p>
<p>********************</p>
<p>The one where the five of them have been inseparable since they met at the neighborhood park when they were kids and Liam and Zayn were in love until Liam decided to change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	built to fall apart (and back together)

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can't believe I'm actually posting this monster. I can't believe I wrote 15K in two and a half weeks. I can't believe this thing is 15K at all, because really, Ginger said "under 5K."
> 
> I'm sorry about all the angst, except I'm not really sorry, because angst is my home.
> 
> Title comes from Taylor Swift's "Out of the Woods" because really, it's such a Ziam song.
> 
> Italics mean flashbacks.
> 
> Set in Southern California, like most of my fic, and actually set in the neighborhood where I grew up.
> 
> Enjoy!

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon when Liam pulls his truck up to the curb outside the apartment Niall and Harry share and digs his phone out of his pocket, pulling up his recent calls and hitting Niall’s name. He slumps against the cold window of the car, blowing hard on his fingers to warm them and wishing fervently that he’d thought to brew some coffee to bring with them this morning. It’s _cold_ , and the street is still damp from the rain last night, the truck’s windows rain-streaked.

Once he’s in the water, it’ll all be worth it.

When he picks up the phone, Niall’s voice is sleep-scratchy and slow. “You outside?”

Liam nods before remembering that Niall can’t see him. “Yep. Ready to go?”

“Almost,” Niall says. In the background, Liam can hear him fumbling around his room, probably finding whatever clothing looks the cleanest and throwing it on. “My board’s in your car, right?”

“Yours and Louis’s,” Liam confirms. “And your sweatshirt, and a fedora that’s got to belong to Harry. You guys use my car like a shared storage unit or something.”

Niall laughs. “Sorry,” he tells Liam in a tone that says he knows Liam doesn’t actually care much. “‘M on my way down now.”

Thirty seconds later he slides into the passenger seat of the truck, a black beanie tugged over his hair, nose and cheeks red from the cold, his eyes half-shut. “Fuck, it’s cold as balls out here.”

“Did you hear the rain at, like, three in the morning?” Liam asks, pulling away from the curb and heading for Louis’s mom’s house. Logically speaking, he should have gone there first and then come to get Niall, but Louis had made it clear last night that he didn’t want to be woken up a minute earlier than absolutely necessary, great waves be damned. “Loki almost scratched a hole in my door trying to get into my room because he was so scared of the thunder.”

“I was out, man,” Niall says with a shrug. “Work killed me, and I knew I was going to have a lot going on today, so I was trying to like, be responsible.”

Liam swallows his grin, trying not to think about what exactly Niall has going on today. Zayn’s not his business, not since last February. He’d made sure of that himself.

“Hey.” Niall’s voice goes soft, and he reaches out to rub guitar-calloused fingers against the nape of Liam’s neck. “It’s probably easier for you if we don’t talk about it, yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Liam sighs. “Like, it’s Zayn. I can’t pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“Just for this morning, though,” Niall suggests, his fingers still heavy and comforting on the back of Liam’s neck as they come to a stop in front of Louis’s mom’s house. He’s already on the curb, his hoodie pulled up over his head, his arms crossed against the cold. “This morning, let’s not talk about it.” 

 

They don’t talk about it, not when Louis gets in the car grumbling about it being _way too fucking early, I don’t care how good the swell is, why the fuck do I let you two talk me into dawn patrols so often?_ Not when Liam merges the truck onto the 101, not when they turn onto the PCH and Niall lets out an excited yell at the sight of the waves, not when they pull up along the side of the freeway at Heavens and hop out of the car, shivering in the early morning ocean fog. Instead, they talk about Niall’s job at Guitar Center’s corporate offices, about Louis’s middle school drama students. They speculate on just how long Harry’s going to grow his hair.

They don’t talk about Zayn.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” Louis whoops, toeing off his worn, holey Vans and shivering a little as he waits for Liam to unlock the shell of the truck. Next to him, Niall turns toward the ocean, snapping pictures for Instagram, no doubt. “Look at that. This is our life, boys.”

“It’s pretty amazing,” Liam agrees. He’s been surfing almost every day this week, far more than Louis or Niall, but the waves haven’t been this good in months, and he’s itching to get in the water as soon as possible.

He’s loved surfing since he first started doing it in high school, loves to go by himself or with other friends, but there’s something special about surfing with Louis and Niall, and Liam feels a rush of anticipation as he shrugs off his shirt, ties a beach towel around his waist, and begins changing into his wetsuit. Niall and Louis follow his lead, and soon the three of them have waxed up their boards and are picking their way down the hill to the beach.

“Fuck,” Niall swears, hopping and nearly knocking into Liam with the end of his board when he stubs his toe on a rock.

Louis snickers, placing a hand on Niall’s shoulder to steady him. “Been a while, bro?”

“Like you’ve been out at all in the last month,” Niall retorts, laughing as the two of them continue down the hill, Louis’s hands roughing up Niall’s sun-bleached hair. Liam stays back for a moment, his board tucked under his arm, just watching his friends. In this moment, right now, everything feels peaceful and right.

 

For once, the swell is just as good as Surfline has predicted, and for two blissful hours Liam loses himself bobbing in the waves, shouting jokes back and forth at Niall and Louis, carving in and out of the break and even getting barreled once. Niall has his GoPro mounted on his board, and the three of them trade off riding it and trying to get good shots. It’s exactly what Liam’s been needing to get him in the Christmas spirit—just him, his boys, and the ocean.

Out here, surrounded by water and sky, it’s easy to forget what’s waiting for him on the shore.

Harry arrives in a tangle of long limbs and long hair, barefoot and in skintight jeans, an oversized sweater that hangs off of his lean frame, and a beanie. When he spots them in the water he begins waving his arms wildly—he’s always had a knack for being able to pick each of them out individually, even though they all look pretty much the same in their black wetsuits. They head in grudgingly, Liam paddling with Louis and Niall even though he knows he won’t be joining them.

“Morning, boys,” Harry greets them cheerfully, allowing Niall to pull him into a hug even though he’s soaking wet. “Good waves?”

Louis nods emphatically. “Fucking awesome. Cold, though.”

“I brought coffee,” Harry says. “And tea.”

“You’re a legend, Styles,” Niall tells him, grabbing his board from the sand and leading the way back up the hill. Louis and Harry follow him, and Liam trails along too, lured by the promise of hot coffee.

“You okay?” Harry asks in an undertone, hanging back to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Liam even though really, the path up the hill isn’t wide enough for that and it’s an accident waiting to happen.

Liam nods, squaring his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Knock it off, Liam,” Louis calls from ahead of them, his tone laced with frustration. “We all know you’re freaking out.”

“He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to,” Niall protests.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Liam insists, raising his voice enough that all three of his friends stop and turn to look at him. “I’ve had months to think about how to handle it. I’ll be okay, promise.”

“You don’t have to be, though, not with us. You know that, right?” Louis’s voice is sharp but sincere.

Liam bites his lip, affection surging through his veins like warmth. “I want to be.”

“Then you will be,” Niall assures him.

Harry glances down at his phone, then back up at Liam, his green eyes hesitant. “We should probably go. His flight is in at ten, so . . .”

“Go,” Liam says, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his tone. “You don’t want to be late.”

Without warning Harry pulls him into a tight embrace. “It’ll be okay, Liam. You did what you thought was right.”

Liam wants to say that doing what you think is right isn’t always the same as doing the right thing, wants to say that for the past ten months he’s been wondering if maybe what he did was the wrong thing, wants to bury his nose in Harry’s curls and have a long cry. Instead, he pats Harry on the back gently and waves goodbye to Louis and Niall before heading back out to surf some more.

 

He stays in the water until he’s pretty sure his feet are totally numb, not bothering to actually catch many waves. He thinks, mostly, duck diving under wave after wave even though none of them is going to be strong enough to wash away the reality of what he did last February. He’d known Zayn would come home eventually—grad school wasn’t forever, after all. He’d thought that when it happened, he’d be prepared to face him again.

Clearly, he’d been wrong, because Zayn is in the air probably somewhere over the Rocky Mountains right now, a 747 jetting him closer to Liam at seven hundred miles per hour, and he’s not ready at all.

When he finally gets home around noon, intent on crawling back into bed and staying there possibly until Zayn returns to Boston, his mom is waiting for him on the couch.

“We should chat,” she tells him in a tone that indicates it’s less of a suggestion and more of an order. Not that she’d force him to talk. He’s twenty-two and a college graduate, and he hasn’t had heart-to-hearts with his parents in years. But she _wants_ to talk, Liam can tell, and he’s shit at saying no to his mom.

He takes a seat.

“How was the beach?” His mom’s eyes are kind behind her glasses, and Liam finds himself snuggling into the couch cushions, wishing he was young enough that a long conversation with his mom really could solve all his problems.

“Perfect,” he says honestly. “Cold, but the waves are so good right now. Niall got some really cool video.”

She smiles, patting his knee, and then she goes for the jugular. “Are you planning to go over to the get-together tonight?”

Liam winces, racking his brain for an answer that won’t disappoint her. “I . . . wasn’t sure yet?”

“Do you work?” she presses.

“No.”

“Then I can’t think of a good reason why you wouldn’t want to go to your _best friend’s_ welcome home party.”

The emphasis she places on _best friend_ makes Liam’s heart kick painfully in his chest, and he shifts on the couch, avoiding her gaze. “Mom . . .”

There’s nothing he can say that will change her mind about this. She doesn’t know the truth—she doesn’t even know the version of the truth that most people know, that they broke up because things just weren’t working out. They’d agreed that given how close their families were, it was a bad idea to let their parents know they’d been together at all. It was the only conversation they’d had since breaking up that hadn’t ended in a fight.

“I’ll be there,” he finally agrees, and she smiles like he’s made the right decision. It makes him feel a tiny bit better.

 

_“Liam,” Zayn whines, lifting a box out of the back of the truck and struggling a little with the unexpected weight. “What’s even in here, dumbbells?”_

_Liam shrugs. “Probably. I have to stay in shape. Maintain my impressive physique.” He pulls a face to show he’s joking._

_“God.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re going to turn my apartment into a home gym, aren’t you?”_

_“Our apartment,” Liam corrects happily. “It’s our apartment now.”_

_Zayn grins, adjusting the box in his arms and leading Liam toward the front doors of the apartment building. “I’m really proud of you, you know? Transferring from a JC in three semesters. S’ fucking impressive, bro.”_

_“It was just gen eds,” Liam replies, blushing absurdly at the compliment. It’s Zayn, his best friend. They say nice things to each other all the time._

_“Still,” Zayn insists, setting the box down to dig through the pocket of his jeans for his keys. “You kicked community college’s ass.”_

_“Yeah,” Liam laughs, following Zayn into the apartment and looking around. He’s been here plenty of times before, but it feels different now that he’s going to be living here, too. He’d hated being stuck back home while the others went to four-year schools, but that’s in the past now. He’s officially a transfer student at UCLA, and he’s living with his best friend and everything’s going to be perfect. “I guess I did.”_

He sleeps for almost three hours, and it doesn’t feel like nearly long enough when he wakes up and immediately has to fight the urge to pull the covers back over his head and stay in hibernation. Unfortunately, that’s not an option with Niall sprawled on the bed next to him, poking the end of his nose.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbles.

“You love me,” Niall tells him, sounding completely unconcerned. He tumbles off of the bed. “Up and at ‘em, big guy. We’ve got a party to go to.”

Liam groans loudly, because with Niall he can afford to let his guard down a little. “I really don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t,” Niall sighs, his tone gentle. “But if you skip out, all five of our families are going to notice, and you’re going to spend from now until New Year’s dodging questions about why you and Zayn aren’t friends anymore.”

He hasn’t even seen Zayn yet and this is already torture. “Right. Fuck, I hate this.”

“We’re not having a blast either,” Niall says softly.

It’s not meant as a criticism, Liam knows that, but it hits him hard anyway. The last thing he’d wanted to do was drag Niall and the others into his mess of a relationship. “I screwed all of us over, didn’t I?”

Niall barks out a laugh, stretching his arms over his head. “Don’t be dramatic, bro. You screwed Zayn over, and yourself. The rest of us just sort of got caught in the middle. Like kids picking sides in a divorce or something.”

Coming from anyone else it would feel like a slap in the face, but Liam knows Niall’s not mad—if any one of them can be counted on to laugh at a tough situation, it’s Niall. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this party.”

“Beer,” Niall tells him seriously. “A lot of beer.”

 

Instead of beer, Liam sneaks Baileys into his hot chocolate—or rather, Louis does it for him. Under any other circumstances he’d feel guilty for drinking covertly at a family gathering, especially a welcome home party for one of his best friends. But the first thing he sees when he follows Niall through the familiar front door of the Malik home is Waliyha, looking about a million times more grown up than she had the last time he’d been over. Out of habit, he goes to ruffle her hair, snatching his hand back like he’s been burned when she ducks away from him and shoots him a glare before walking away without saying a word. Liam’s heart sinks.

Zayn’s told her—not everything, maybe, but definitely something.

“Shrug it off,” Louis says, appearing next to him and handing him a mug of something with marshmallows floating on top. “And drink up.”

Liam glances down at the drink. “Hot chocolate?”

“With Baileys,” Louis confirms, taking a sip from his own mug. “Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

He does need it. Halfway through a chat with Niall’s dad, Liam feels an arm slip around his waist, and he looks down to see Zayn’s mom smiling up at him.

“You,” she says, “I’ve missed. You don’t come by anymore.”

Automatically, he stretches his arm over her shoulders and gives her a quick squeeze back even as his throat dries up. “I’ve, uh, missed you too.”

He’s always liked Trisha, always loved her almost as much as he loves his own mom, always admired the quiet ferocity with which she loves her family. He remembers being five years old and crying in her kitchen as she dabbed peroxide on his skinned knee and covered it with a Batman Band-Aid, remembers being ten years old and eating snacks after school with Zayn, learning to love her cooking. He remembers being sixteen and taking prom pictures in this living room, squirming in his tie and already making plans with Louis to head to In-N-Out after the dance.

He remembers being twenty and kissing her son in his room at this house over winter break, muffling his moans in the side of Zayn’s neck so their families wouldn’t hear because this was theirs, just theirs, at least for right now.

He remembers all of it, is the thing, and it’s the memories that make him feel sick when she puts her arm around him and squeezes affectionately like the second mother she’s always been to him.

“Have you seen Zayn yet?” she asks.

_No_ , Liam wants to say, _I haven’t and I can’t_. Instead, he smiles, his cheeks aching with how fake it feels. “Not yet.”

She frowns, and he can see the questions forming in her head. Before Zayn had left, the two of them had been inseparable. “I was surprised you didn’t go to the airport with the others, but they told me you had to work.”

They’re lying to each other’s moms for him now. Fantastic.

“Yeah, it sucked,” he replies, shifting his weight uneasily. “Welcome to being an adult, I guess.”

Tricia laughs at that one, reaching up to muss his carefully styled hair. “I guess so, Liam. Don’t be such a stranger, yeah?”

He can’t imagine a world where that will ever be even a remote possibility again, but he can’t bring himself to tell her that. “I won’t, promise.”

“Good,” she says, squeezing his hand once more before turning to answer a question from one of the twins. Liam seizes his opportunity and escapes into the kitchen to put his now-empty mug in the dishwasher. He’d completely drained it during his conversation with Zayn’s mom, and lightweight that he is, he can just barely feel the hum of the alcohol, a subtle warmth at the tips of his fingers, the smallest lightening of the tightness that’s been caging him in all day.

The kitchen, unlike the living room, is quiet, a welcome escape from the chaos that inevitably occurs when all five of their families gather in one spot. Liam carefully rinses his mug and places it in the dishwasher before leaning back against the counter, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a moment, letting the stillness wash over him.

“Hiding, or running?”

Zayn’s voice startles him, and he jumps, nearly cracking his head on the cabinet behind him. The Zayn of a year ago would have rushed to check on him, pressed soothing kisses onto his temple even as Liam insisted that he was fine.

This Zayn smirks.

For a wild moment Liam has to stop himself from pushing away from the counter and pinning Zayn against the opposite wall. Instead, he stays where he is, his eyes raking over Zayn, drinking him in. He’s let his hair grow out, and it’s gathered in a messy little knot at the nape of his neck. His thin frame is dwarfed by a cream-colored sweater, and his black jeans are a little ripped, his boots scuffed.

He looks so much like home and so unfamiliar at the same time, and Liam sort of wants to cry.

“Hi,” he says instead.

The expression that flashes across Zayn’s face is hard to name—irritation, hurt, something a little darker—but all he says is, “Why?”

There are so many possible answers to his question, and Liam isn’t even really sure what he’s asking. “Why what?”

“Why are you _here_?” Zayn asks, taking a step closer. Liam’s body tenses.

“My mom made me come,” he says honestly. He’s not trying to be an ass, he’s really not. There are so many truths he can’t tell Zayn, so many things he can’t say, but this, at least, he can give him.

Zayn snorts, and it’s close enough to a laugh that Liam almost smiles himself. “Didn’t want to welcome me home, then?”

This whole thing is so fucked up, but Liam can’t bring himself to walk away, not when Zayn is right there, so close he can catch his familiar scent, spicy cinnamon and a hint of amber and the sharp edge of cigarette smoke. He shrugs.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to welcome you home.”

Another step. “You were right.”

“I should go.” With anyone else, Liam wouldn’t allow himself to be pushed around like this, but he owes Zayn this much, the chance to have a say in who’s at his own welcome home party.

“Not yet,” Zayn whispers.

He’s right there, so close Liam could reach out and touch him if he dared. Instead he stays frozen, afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything that might break them even more than they’ve already been broken.

Then Zayn takes one more step forward and fists his hands in the fabric of Liam’s flannel, his breath hot against Liam’s lips, their foreheads tilted together. “You shouldn’t _be_ here, Liam,” he says fiercely.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispers hoarsely, tentatively reaching up to rest one hand lightly on Zayn’s face. It’s been months but he still knows every plane and angle instinctively, and the sensation of Zayn’s stubble under his thumb is just like it’s always been. So much has changed, but not this, not the way they fit together.

Rather than answering, Zayn makes a strangled sound and tugs Liam into a kiss.

At first he freezes, convinced that after a moment Zayn will pull away, say it was a mistake, say they were a mistake, say he needs Liam to leave and never come back, because that’s what Liam knows he deserves.

It’s what he would do in Zayn’s place.

Zayn bites down hard on Liam’s bottom lip, pulling away just long enough to mumble, “Come _on_ , Liam,” before he’s diving back in, his soft lips a sharp contrast to the roughness of the kiss. There’s a note of desperation in his tone, like he knows what a bad decision he’s making and can’t stop himself, and that more than anything else is what pushes Liam over the edge and has him reaching for Zayn’s hips, jerking him closer and opening his mouth to the incessant press of Zayn’s tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans as Zayn slots one of his legs in between his thighs and pushes him into the counter. The edge of the countertop is digging into his spine, but he can barely feel it, too lost in the sweep of Zayn’s tongue into his mouth, the way Zayn’s fingers dig into his thighs. He tangles a hand in Zayn’s hair, so much longer than it had been the last time they did this— _hair grows a half an inch a month_ , a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Harry informs him, _it’s been almost ten months, his hair is at least five inches longer_ —and he ignores it, kissing Zayn harder, pulling him closer like somehow he can pour every ounce of his regret into once embrace.

Zayn tears his mouth away from Liam’s only to move it to the birthmark on his neck, and Liam can’t stop himself. “Zayn,” he whimpers, “I’m so—“

And then Zayn’s pushing himself away from Liam, moving so quickly that he’s almost on the other side of the kitchen before Liam registers what’s happening. For a moment they just look at each other, chests heaving, hair disheveled.

“You should go now,” he says evenly.

 

“Liam!” Louis yells. Liam can hear the slap of feet against pavement as his friend chases him down the sidewalk, but he doesn’t stop walking. “Liam, _wait_.”

He has no intention of even slowing down, because he doesn’t want to be with Louis right now, doesn’t want to be with anyone, but Louis catches up and places a hand on Liam’s shoulder, turning him around so he can look into his eyes, concern clear on his face.

“Dude, what happened back there?”

“Zayn,” Liam chokes. It’s all he can get out before he starts crying for real, but it must be enough, because Louis pulls him into a fierce hug, standing on his tiptoes to hook his chin over Liam’s shoulder and whisper soothingly in his ear.

“It’s okay, Liam. Seriously, you’ll be fine.”

Liam shudders, nuzzling his face into Louis’s shoulder. “It doesn’t really feel that way.”

“I know,” Louis replies. “But it’ll be okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“He, uh, kissed me,” Liam sniffles, stepping out of Louis’s embrace awkwardly. “And then he told me I should leave.”

Louis frowns. “He what? That’s fucked up.”

“Not nearly as fucked up as what I did to him,” Liam says quietly.

“You need to let that go,” Louis tells him. Liam opens his mouth to respond, but Louis cuts him off, his hand coming up to rest on Liam’s shoulder. “Listen to me, man. You did something kind of crazy, for what you thought were good reasons, and you hurt someone you loved, for what you thought were good reasons. It’s done now, Liam. You can’t undo it, so stop punishing yourself.”

His first instinct is to snap back that _someone_ needs to punish him, that what he did was unforgiveable, that he’s glad Zayn hates him so much even if that kiss is the only thing other than surfing that’s really felt right in months. But something about Louis’s words rings true, and it’s just like Louis to be willing to tell him what he needs to hear even though it’s not what he _wants_ to hear at all.

“Seriously,” Louis repeats. His thumb digs into Liam’s shoulder near his collarbone and blue eyes are too bright. “Let yourself off the hook.”

Liam heaves a deep breath, focusing on the steadiness of Louis’s gaze, of his familiar presence. “Okay. I’ll try.”

 

_He’s not drunk, exactly, but he’s not sober either. Liam can feel the alcohol thrumming in his bloodstream, adding just a little extra thud to his heartbeat—or maybe that’s something else, the adrenaline, the excitement, the feeling of his first college party._

_“Zayn,” he slurs, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulling him in close, a little too close for just friends maybe, but fuck it, he’s having a good night. He can afford to be free with himself. “Zayn, I have to tell you something.”_

_“Yeah?” Zayn laughs, throwing an arm over Liam’s shoulders in return. “What’s up, babe?”_

_It’s not meant as a romantic endearment, Liam knows that, but it makes his heart jump all the same. He’s been telling himself for months that this thing between him and Zayn isn’t a thing at all, because surely if he’d been in love with his best friend, he would have figured it out sooner. They’ve known each other since they were six, slept in the same bed, seen each other naked, swapped stories about having sex with girls and guys. It’s not like he would just fall for Zayn with no warning, except that when he allows himself to think about it at all, he thinks he has._

_“You’re like . . .” Liam pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. There’s a more eloquent way to say this, he’s sure, but eloquence isn’t his thing, so he just cuts right to the heart of it. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”_

_He knows Zayn is drunk too because he giggles, leaning in to kiss Liam playfully on the cheek. “You, too.”_

_“It’s not the same though,” Liam insists, because right now, it seems very important that Zayn know this. “You’re . . . wow.”_

_“You’re pretty wow yourself,” Zayn says softly, and Liam’s not sure who initiates it, but one minute he’s gazing fondly into Zayn’s eyes and thinking a little drunkenly about how much he’d like to tap the tip of his nose and the next minute they’re kissing, licking sloppily into each other’s mouths and laughing with tequila-scented breath._

_“That,” Liam says when they finally stop kissing, “was wow.”_

For the second time in two days, Liam wakes up with Niall in his bed.

“You know,” Niall says cheerfully, throwing his leg around Liam’s waist, “Your blowjobs are fantastic, but your fingering technique really leaves something to be desired.”

Liam blinks, not bothering to wriggle away from Niall—once he’s latched on he’s like a koala bear, and there’s no getting loose. “How would you know?”

“You don’t remember?” Niall asks in a faux-wounded tone. “Last night you said I was the best you’d ever had.”

“Why are you in my bed?” Liam groans. He sort of really needs to take a piss, but that’s going to be tricky with Niall clinging to him like saran wrap.

Niall noses along the shell of Liam’s ear, humming contentedly. Absently, Liam wonders if maybe he just really needed a cuddle. “’M supposed to be waking you up. We’re going to breakfast.”

“Who’s we?” Liam asks suspiciously.

“The usual crowd,” Niall replies, sitting up like maybe he thinks there needs to be some distance between the two of them. “You, me, Louis, Harry, Zayn . . .”

“Zayn? Is that a good idea?”

“You’ll see,” Niall tells him, and Liam doesn’t usually think Niall is even capable of sounding ominous, but right now he does.

He doesn’t want to be a dick, he really doesn’t, but he can’t do this, and if his friends are going to try to make it work, he’s going to hibernate until after Christmas, because he _cannot do this_. If last night had made anything abundantly clear, it’s that Zayn is never going to forgive him, and Liam can’t blame him.

“Seriously, man, I don’t think me and Zayn in the same room is a good idea,” he tries again.

“It’s not about you,” Niall snaps, immediately looking contrite. “Sorry. But, like, you need to be there, yeah? Just trust us.”

As much as he’s sure this is going to be a disaster, Liam does.

By the time Niall parks his battered blue Jetta in front of IHOP and ushers Liam inside, his stomach is tied in knots and he thinks he can feel a headache coming on. He’s also fairly certain he’s running a fever.

This is definitely not a good idea.

The hostess, a chirpy girl whose nametag says ‘Camila’ that Liam thinks might have been a few grades behind them in high school, leads them to a booth right away, and when Liam sees that Harry, Louis, and Zayn are already seated and waiting for them he nearly tries to turn around and run.

“Hey, guys,” Harry says, somehow managing to look perfectly at ease. He’s squished into one site of the booth with Louis and Zayn on either side of him, and as Niall and Liam slide onto the opposite bench, Liam thinks a little wildly that it feels like picking sides.

“Have you guys ordered yet?” Niall asks, leaning back against the seat like this isn’t at all awkward for him. Maybe it isn’t—maybe Liam is the only one who feels like he’s about to explode out of his own skin.

Then he catches Zayn’s eye across the table, and he knows he’s not alone.

It feels too cruel to both of them, that they’re making eye contact now, after everything that’s happened, and Zayn still feels like a safe place. Liam shifts his gaze quickly to Louis, and Louis immediately shoots him a tight smile, like he knows how hard this is for him and wants to reassure him but doesn’t really think anything he has to say will be reassuring.

“So,” Louis begins, folding his hands on the syrup-stained tabletop in front of him. “You’re probably wondering why I gathered all of you here today.”

Liam wants to snap back that yeah, he is, actually, but he can’t actually find it in him to say anything at all. Instead, he reaches for the menu in front of him and opens it up, pretending to study it even though the various combinations of breakfast foods are blurring before his eyes, turning into a mishmash. Nothing sounds appetizing right now, anyway.

“You two need to get your shit together,” Louis says bluntly, and Liam looks up abruptly, his eyes meeting Zayn’s again.

“What?” he asks, at the same time Zayn says, “ _We_ need to get our shit together?”

“Yes, both of you.” Harry’s voice is sharper than usual, his brow furrowed. “You guys, you made a scene last night.”

“Nobody saw us,” Liam says quickly. They couldn’t have. One of their parents would have said something.

Louis rolls his eyes. “They didn’t have to. Everyone could hear you guys fighting.”

“And Liam hightailing it out of the house in tears wasn’t exactly subtle, either,” Niall adds.

Liam bristles. “It’s not like I _planned_ to leave crying.”

“Did you _plan_ to cheat on me?” Zayn asks, his voice dripping sarcasm, and Louis slams his hand down on the table, making the menus jump and the hostess shoot them a frown.

“Seriously, both of you need to let it go,” he snaps. “You’re not going to be able to avoid each other while Zayn’s home. Just play nice until Christmas, guys.”

“I don’t want to play nice,” Zayn mumbles, and Liam’s chest clenches at the plaintive note there, the hint of vulnerability he’s allowing all four of them to see. It’s not like he ever forgets what he did, but with Zayn right there in front of him, it feels even heavier.

“And he shouldn’t have to,” Liam adds. He deserves to suffer, but Zayn’s not the one in the wrong here. If he doesn’t want to see Liam, he should be able to avoid him.

Zayn frowns at him, which sucks but is also fair. If their situations were reversed, Liam probably wouldn’t want Zayn trying to stick up for him, either.

“Do you want to tell your parents you guys were together?” Harry asks gently. “Because that’s your alternative.”

Liam’s gut twists at the thought. It’s not that their parents would be upset—if anything, they’d be the opposite. His parents adore Zayn, and he knows Zayn’s parents think of him as an extension of their family. Having to tell them that he’d been with Zayn and then had broken things off would disappoint them more than he wants to even think about, especially since there’s no way he can tell them the truth about why he and Zayn broke up.

Not even Zayn knows that.

“I’d rather not,” he says quietly, and across the table Zayn nods.

It should take a weight off of his shoulders, knowing that he won’t have to fight with Zayn for the rest of the holidays. Instead, he feels something even heavier than the tension settle over him as he looks at Zayn’s eyes. He’s used to seeing Zayn lit up when he’s with them, his eyes full of warmth and happiness. Right now, he’s got walls up, walls to separate him from Liam.

Liam knows he deserves it, but somehow the sight still hurts.

“So.” Niall clears his throat and shifts on the vinyl bench of the booth, his shoulder pressing against Liam’s in solidarity. “What’s everyone getting? I’m leaning toward the bacon temptation omelette and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes myself.”

Louis snorts. “Of course you are.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Niall asks faux indignantly.

“You eat enough for, like, ten people,” Zayn explains like this isn’t something all five of them are all too aware of. “And you never share.”

“ _Never_ ,” Liam echoes before he thinks to stop himself, jutting his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and doing his best to give Niall puppydog eyes. “It’s terrible.”

Zayn snickers just the tiniest bit, and suddenly Liam is beaming as Niall playfully bops him on the head with his menu and Harry turns to whisper something into Louis’s ear.

Maybe, just maybe, they can make it to New Year’s.

 

“Why is Gemma so _difficult_ to shop for?” Harry groans two hours later as he leads Liam and Zayn through the Nordstrom in the mall.

“Because Gemma enjoys being difficult,” Zayn tells him, pausing in front of a display of handbags that Liam guesses probably look nice if you’re the kind of person who enjoys carrying nice handbags. “What about one of these?”

Harry perks up momentarily, but then his face falls. “She got a really nice bag for her birthday.”

“Are you sure she wouldn’t want another one?” Liam asks, rubbing a hand over his short hair. “Nicola always wants, like, five different bags.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says with a frown, heading for a different section of the store. “I might get her a scarf.”

“He probably just wants an excuse to get himself a new scarf,” Zayn whispers to Liam as they trail Harry through the store. He’d talked the two of them into coming Christmas shopping for Gemma with him, and because Harry was effortlessly charming and more conniving than he cared to admit, they’d somehow agreed before realizing that they’d both be there.

Liam’s not expecting the tickle of Zayn’s breath on his ear, and his giggle in response is too high-pitched, just a little off.

“Sorry,” Zayn mutters, edging away from Liam, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “This is stupid. We’re not going to be able to pretend everything is okay, and—“

“Zayn, no!” Liam blurts, reaching out to catch Zayn’s arm. Zayn looks between Liam’s hand on his arm and his face a few times, his eyebrows raised, and Liam let’s go but doesn’t step backwards. “Hey, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he says softly. “And I am.”

Emotions flit across Zayn’s face so quickly that Liam can’t put a name to any of them, and then he runs a hand through his long hair, sighing. “Let’s just not talk about it, yeah?”

They’re just standing there in the middle of the department store staring at each other now, and Liam wants nothing more than to pull Zayn into a fierce hug, to hold him until he stops looking so tense and small. It’s not an option, though, not when he’s the one who made Zayn feel like this in the first place.

“Not talking about it won’t fix anything.”

Instead of answering, Zayn smiles sadly at him and then walks quickly toward Harry, who’s loudly asking for his opinion on a plaid scarf he thinks Gemma might like. Liam follows more slowly, studying the way Zayn’s whole body seems to relax once there’s more space between them.

“Liam, what do you think of this one?” Harry asks.

Liam forces himself to smile, hoping that if he can make Harry laugh, it’ll lighten his own mood. “I think I need you to try it on to really get the full effect,” he suggests playfully.

Harry joins in enthusiastically, draping the scarf around his neck and turning to Zayn with a grin. “How does it look?”

Zayn just looks at them, his mouth staying still, but Liam can see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes—he’s trying not to smile.

“Dunno,” he says doubtfully. “I’m having a hard time with it. Maybe if you had some more accessories I could get the full effect and know for sure.”

“A hat, maybe?” Harry suggests.

“This hat,” Liam tells him, reading for a floppy-brimmed felt hat and placing it jauntily atop Harry’s head. “It’s all starting to come together now.”

“Yeah,” Zayn deadpans, “Gemma’s really going to love that.”

Liam bursts into delighted laughter, Harry joins him, and before long Zayn is laughing too. The sales guy is glaring at them, and they’re still hours away from finding a present for Gemma, but right now, in this moment, Liam feels almost like things are back to normal.

 

_“Harry, I really think this might end up being a disaster,” Liam says, tucking his cell phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can continue to talk to Harry as he rummages through the kitchen cabinets. “I’m not even sure we have a pot I can use to cook the pasta.”_

_He can practically hear the eye roll in Harry’s voice. “I’m sure you have a pot. You have several, actually. Zayn’s mom got them for him when he first moved into the apartment.”_

_“How do you even know that?” Liam asks, frowning when, sure enough, he discovers an entire set of pots nested inside each other and shoved at the far back of one of the cabinets._

_“Trisha told me,” Harry says simply. “She thought it might be useful information for me if I ever came to visit.”_

_“Of course she did.” Liam sets the pots down on the counter and puts one hand on his hip. “So I have the pot. Now what?”_

_“You boil the water,” Harry laughs. “Do you really need me to walk you through every step of making spaghetti?”_

_Liam shrugs even though he knows Harry can’t see him. “Probably.”_

_“It’s really not that difficult,” Harry tells him. “Even Louis knows how to make spaghetti.”_

_“You made Louis make a cooking class with you,” Liam says. “I just put the water in the pot and then turn on the stove, right?”_

_“Salt it first,” Harry instructs._

_Liam blinks. “What?”_

_“Shake salt into the water,” Harry replies patiently. “You want it to be really salty. Almost like a broth. It’ll add flavor to the spaghetti.”_

_“Do I have to_ taste _it?” Liam wonders._

_He can hear Harry giggling through the phone. “Ideally, yes, but don’t worry about it if you don’t want to.”_

_“Why did I think this was a good idea?” Liam groans. “I don’t even know how much spaghetti to make. This is going to be the worst surprise dinner ever.”_

_“Liam,” Harry says seriously, “nobody ever knows how much spaghetti to make.”_

_Liam has to fight the urge to throw his hands up. “Exactly! Zayn’s going to hate this.”_

_“Zayn,” Harry says, “is going to love it, because it’s something you’re doing for him. And honestly, you can’t screw up spaghetti. I’m not lying to you about how easy it is.”_

_He’s not convinced, but he takes a deep breath anyway and says, “So boil pasta, drain pasta, warm up pasta sauce, and serve with salad and garlic bread?”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“And you’re sure this is good enough for a romantic dinner?_

_It’s a stupid question—if Liam tries to make anything fancier than spaghetti and salad, he’ll probably burn the entire apartment complex down, and that won’t be romantic at all. Still, he can’t help worrying that this isn’t enough. Truthfully, he doesn’t think anything could be enough to show Zayn how much he cares about him._

_Harry laughs again. “I don’t think the dinner is going to be the focus of Zayn’s attention, to be honest.”_

_He’s grateful Harry isn’t there to see the way his cheeks redden. “Thanks, man. I couldn’t have pulled this off without your help.”_

_Actually, he’s not entirely sure he’s managed to pull it off even_ with _Harry’s help. The important part, the part where Zayn tells him whether or not he had a good time, hasn’t happened yet, and despite Harry’s encouragement, Liam isn’t feeling particularly confident in his cooking abilities._

_As if on key, he hears the scrape of a key in the lock on the front door of the apartment and the telltale creak as it swings open, followed by the muted scuff of Zayn’s worn combat boots against the ugly tan carpet. “Hey, I’ve got to go,” Liam says quickly. “He’s home. Thanks again, Harry!”_

_He hangs up before Harry can say goodbye himself, shoving his phone into his pocket and turning innocently to face Zayn as he walks into the kitchen and stops abruptly, his dark eyebrows rising. “What’s all this?”_

_“All what?” Liam asks faux innocently, turning to give the pasta a quick stir. Harry had said to boil it until it was “al dente” but Liam’s not totally sure what that means, so his plan is to just boil it for a few minutes and hope it’s good._

_“Liam,” Zayn laughs, edging up behind Liam as he stands at the stove and hooking his chin over his shoulder, “you cooked. You never cook.”_

_“_ We _never cook,” Liam corrects, leaning back against Zayn just a little. The two of them living together has been so easy over the past few months—they’re opposites, but they’ve fallen into a comfortable living rhythm. Cooking has never been part of it, though. They mostly live on Ramen and Hot Pockets and peanut butter sandwiches. “I, uh, thought a real dinner might be nice for a change?”_

_Zayn hums into his neck, the gesture so familiar that it makes Liam’s entire body tingle. This is going to work, he’s sure of it. “It’s very nice, babe.”_

Babe _again, and surely Liam isn’t imagining the affection there, the way Zayn’s voice trips over the word like maybe when he says it about Liam it doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does when he says it about Louis or Harry or Niall._

_“It’s almost ready,” he says quickly, waiting for Zayn to loosen his grip on his waist before he drains the pasta and pours it back into the pot. “Do you want to eat now or wait?”_

_“Now, definitely,” Zayn says with a grin, opening up one of the cupboards and taking down two plates. “Seriously, this looks so good.”_

_Liam shrugs shyly. “It’s just spaghetti. I didn’t want to burn down the apartment.”_

_“And you didn’t,” Zayn teases. “I’m proud.”_

_“Shut up,” Liam tells him, but there’s no bite to it._

_“This really does look good,” Zayn repeats, smiling at Liam._

_It mostly looks like every other plate of spaghetti Liam has ever seen in his life, but it’s been weeks since he had a real, home-cooked meal, not since he studied for his bio test with Leigh-Anne and she cooked enchiladas for their entire study group, so the sight makes his stomach growl all the same._

_They dig in, and for a few minutes the kitchen is silent, just the sound of their forks scraping against their plates. Liam clears his throat awkwardly, and Zayn laughs a little._

_“It’s great, Liam.”_

_Liam grins, shoving the spaghetti around on the plate with the back of his fork, suddenly unable to eat. “I’m glad you like it. We, uh, do you think we could talk?”_

_Zayn sets his fork down, looking steadily at Liam across the table. “’Course we can. What’s up?”_

_“We never talked,” Liam says softly. “About the kiss, I mean. We never talked about it.”_

_“I didn’t realize we needed to,” Zayn replies._

_Liam runs a hand through his hair. “I just . . . it was good, you know? You and me?”_

_Zayn smiles softly, ducking his head. “You thought so?”_

_“I did, yeah,” Liam says hesitantly. “But we were drunk, so . . .”_

_“So?” Zayn prompts._

_“I wasn’t sure if you did,” Liam blurts, looking down at his plate. “It didn’t happen again, so I thought maybe . . .”_

_“Liam,” Zayn says, “I’ve been wanting that for years. I just didn’t want to push you.”_

_Before Zayn has finished speaking Liam is on his feet, circling around the table and stopping in front of his chair. Zayn rises to meet him, and for a moment they both just look at each other, eyes wide, lips parted._

_Then Liam leans in and catches Zayn’s lips with his own._

_Their last kiss had been sloppy and tequila-fueled, all silliness and laughter. This one is slower, more hesitant, and infinitely more meaningful. Liam brings a hand up to cup Zayn’s cheek, opening his mouth to slide their tongues together. When they finally stop kissing, they stay in each other’s space, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together._

_“So,” Liam says, “we’re together now, yeah?”_

_“Yeah,” Zayn confirms. “We’re together.”_

Liam hears feet pounding down the stairs of the Styles house long before the door swings open to reveal Gemma and Harry, both with their cheeks flushed and their hair messy. Harry is holding a book high over his head, and Gemma is glaring at him. He’s sure it’s all very serious, but Liam can’t stop himself from laughing as he steps through the door and shuts it behind him against the wind. It’s cold for December in Southern California, and as much as he likes having the holiday-appropriate weather, he’s not enjoying the way the wind is blowing out the waves and making any attempts at surfing a bust. It’s been two days since breakfast and his tentative truce with Zayn, and he’s mostly spent the time reading comic books and trying to teach Loki new tricks.

“You,” Gemma says as soon as she sees him, “are late.”

Liam blinks. “I came over as soon as you guys called me. I can’t _apparate_.”

“Not late coming over here,” Harry laughs. “Late for the Secret Santa drawing. Like, two weeks late.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Liam curses, and then he glances guiltily around the house just in case Anne is there and waiting to chastise him for cursing.

He can’t believe he’s forgotten about Secret Santa. It’s been a tradition for their families since he was about eleven, when their parents figured out that their families were inextricably interwined at this point and gift-giving was an inevitability. It’s simple enough, just a name drawn out of a Santa hat and a twenty-dollar gift limit. Usually, it’s one of his favorite parts of the holidays, but this year he’d been working on the night they’d done the drawing and had completely forgotten to stop by later to get his assignment.

“You’ve got three days,” Gemma tells him with a wink, handing him a slip of paper. “I’d get shopping if I was you.”

When Liam opens the paper, he can’t keep himself from cursing again. Harry and Gemma both look at him with alarm, and he crumples the paper in his fist. “Are you two messing with me?”

“No?” Harry says carefully. “I don’t think so?”

Wordlessly, Liam hands the paper over, and when Harry and Gemma see the name typed neatly in Courier print, both of them look up immediately, their eyes widening.

_Zayn_.

 

“I seriously think the universe is playing a trick on me,” Liam groans, flopping backwards onto Louis’s bed and closing his eyes. Maybe if he keeps them closed long enough, Christmas will pass him by and he won’t have to buy a Secret Santa gift for his ex boyfriend.

“Not the universe,” Louis says nonchalantly, and Liam feels the weight of the bed shift and the bedsprings squeal as he drops heavily onto the bed next to him. “And not Harry, either. Gemma, maybe, but I don’t think Harry would let her play a trick on you about this.”

Liam groans loudly, his eyes still screwed shut. “Then how the _fuck_ did I get Zayn?”

“Shitty luck?” Louis suggests. “Sorry, that wasn’t helpful.”

“It really wasn’t,” Liam agrees. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a sign or something.”

He doesn’t have to be looking at Louis to know his friend is rolling his eyes. “A sign of what, exactly?”

“I don’t _know_.” There’s a plaintive note creeping into his voice, but Liam doesn’t bother to temper it. “Something.”

“Liam.” Louis’s voice is gentle. “It’s just Secret Santa.”

It doesn’t feel like a “just” at all. It feels like an opportunity, a cosmic chance handed to him on a silver platter. What he’d done to Zayn was unforgiveable, but maybe, just maybe, if he handles things just right, he can still be forgiven. At the very least, maybe he can give Zayn a meaningful apology rather than the half-assed version he’d given the first time around.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis says, his voice breaking Liam’s reverie and making him jump.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“Do you think you did the right thing?” Louis asks.

Nobody’s ever really put the question to him like that before, and it gives Liam pause. Last February, he would have said yes without a second thought. He’d been holding Zayn back, and Zayn was too stubborn to see it. He’d done what he had to do to get Zayn to go to Boston. Now, having seen firsthand just how much he’s hurt Zayn, he’s not so sure.

“I don’t know anymore,” he says truthfully.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Louis replies. “It’s your relationship, Liam. And it’s not like you listened to us the first time around.”

At that, Liam bristles. “Well it’s not like you guys had any better suggestions on how I should handle things.”

Louis rolls his eyes again, unruffled. “I seem to remember Harry saying you could try just being honest with him?”

“We both know that wouldn’t have worked. Zayn’s too stubborn.”

“He’s not as stubborn as you think he is,” Louis tells him softly. “Not when it comes to you. I think if you’d told him why you wanted him to go, he would have gone.”

He wouldn’t have. Liam doesn’t have to talk to Zayn about it to know. “He wouldn’t have.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, whatever you say. I’m just saying, maybe getting him for Secret Santa is a sign from the universe, maybe it isn’t. Either way, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to just not talk about it.”

It isn’t. Liam knows it isn’t, but he can’t bring himself to talk to Zayn about it. Right now, it feels like they have a fragile peace, but the minute they start trying to talk through everything that happened, he knows it’ll shatter. It’s not worth it, not when Zayn is going back to Boston in two weeks and they won’t have to see each other again for months.

It’s not worth it.

 

Liam wraps his hand tightly around his travel mug of coffee, hoping the warmth will leech from the drink into his fingers and spread throughout his body, because Christ, it’s cold as _fuck_ out here. He wraps his scarf more tightly around his neck and shivers a little, huddling closer to Niall.

“Everyone’s here, right?” Harry asks, standing on his tiptoes and counting, mumbling the numbers to himself under his breath. “I don’t want to accidentally leave without someone.”

“We’re missing Zayn and Waliyha,” Louis tells him. “He said they got stuck in traffic on the way back from the mall.”

“Zayn went to the mall?” Lottie asks, snickering a little. “Did he lose a bet?”

“Last-minute Christmas shopping,” Doniya explains. “Waliyha bribed him to take her.”

Liam smiles despite himself, taking a sip of coffee and enjoying the way the warm drink washes through him. “What did she have to offer him, an entire wall of her room for his art?”

Doniya ignores him.

Okay, then. Apparently Waliyha isn’t the only one of Zayn’s sisters who has at least a vague idea about what had happened between them. Awesome. For whatever reason, he hadn’t expected that Zayn would tell people, and knowing that now things are messed up not just between him and Zayn but between him and Zayn’s sisters hurts more than he’d thought it would.

“S’okay, man,” Niall whispers, crowding in close to Liam’s side, an arm wrapping around his waist, the tips of his bleached hair tickling Liam’s cheek. “Shake it off.”

Liam’s lips twitch, and he tilts his head to pay closer attention to Niall. “Haters gonna hate, hate, hate?”

“Exactly,” Niall agrees enthusiastically, pressing a sloppy kiss to Liam’s cheek. “Cheer up, man. It’s almost Christmas.”

He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not feeling very Christmassy. Being reunited with the boy whose heart he broke does that to him, apparently.

Harry claps his hands together in front of him, and Niall and Liam snicker. He looks mildly ridiculous in a snowflake sweater underneath his coat, his curls stuffed into a red and green beanie with a pom-pom on top of it. Festive, certainly, but less than stylish. “Everyone has their lyric sheets, right?”

“I’ve lost mine,” Louis drawls. “Which is a real tragedy, because I don’t know the words to “Jingle Bells” even though we do this every year with the exact same set list.”

“Not sure it’s a set list if it’s just for caroling,” Liam mutters to Niall, but Niall’s isn’t the only giggle he receives in response.

He turns to see Zayn on his other side, looking unfairly perfect in a gray coat and beanie, and, weirdly, smiling at him.

“Hey,” Liam says awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious about the way his hair falls flat over his forehead—he hadn’t bothered to style it after his shower—and the fact that his jeans and sweater make him look sort of underdressed compared to Zayn’s easy model-off-duty wardrobe.

“Hey,” Zayn echoes, looking past Liam’s shoulder to lift his chin in Niall’s direction. “Hey, Niall.”

There are so many things Liam wants to say, things like _your beanie looks really comfortable_ and _I love your hair long_ and _sometimes I wish you would ignore me completely because that’s what I deserve_ , but Harry starts speaking again, so he watches Zayn from the corner of his eye and hopes he’s not being too obvious about it.

“So we’ll just head around the neighborhood, sing some songs, and then go back to Liam’s and watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , yeah?” Harry says.

“You’re saying that like we don’t do this every year,” Gemma grumbles, shuffling her feet impatiently and making Safaa giggle.

Louis slings an arm over her shoulders. “He’s a bossy little thing, isn’t he?”

“Bossy _big_ thing,” Harry grumbles good-naturedly. “But seriously, let’s head out.”

They do this every December 23rd, the five of them and their siblings. Their parents used to come along too, until they’d determined the kids were old enough to do it without supervision. Somewhere along the way it became tradition, expanded to include movies and Christmas cookies and hot chocolate at Liam’s house afterwards (and, sometime during high school, mulled wine), and even though he’d been less than thrilled about the idea of seeing Zayn again after successfully avoiding him for two whole days, he’d known he couldn’t get out of Christmas caroling.

And it’s not that bad, really. Zayn stays beside him as they make their way around the neighborhood, with Niall sticking close to his other side, digging an elbow in every now and then as if checking to make sure Liam isn’t going to explode out of his own skin at Zayn’s proximity. Which he isn’t, probably, as long as Zayn doesn’t touch him or make too many sly comments under his breath or just look up at him with those huge, gorgeous eyes.

Basically, as long as Liam aggressively pretends that Zayn isn’t there, he’s fine.

It’s almost impossible to do that, though, because Zayn is _right there_ , all cozy winter clothes and chapped, impossibly rosy lips and bright eyes. Every now and then a breeze will blow the scent of cigarettes Liam’s way, and he inhales deeply, wanting to step closer and nuzzle his face into the curve of Zayn’s neck and never let go.

He can’t do that, not anymore, so he forces himself to focus on _it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you_ and _a beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight_ and, ridiculously, _make my wish come true baby, all I want for Christmas is you_.

By the time they make it back to his house, the wind has picked up and the cold sharpened, and all of them are red-cheeked and shivering. They pile into the living room with giant mugs of hot chocolate to watch the movie, and, somehow, Liam finds himself squashed into a corner of the loveseat, edged up against its arm on one side and with Zayn pressing into his other.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, wishing Zayn wasn’t quite so close the minute he turns his head to speak to him.

“’Course it is.” Zayn tilts his head, a thin line appearing between his eyebrows when he frowns slightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Liam flushes, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to chew on it for a moment before speaking. “You’re not exactly my biggest fan, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugs, the movement of his slim shoulders causing him to brush up against Liam even more. “They don’t need to know that,” he replies, casting a significant look at the twins, who are curled up on the floor on either side of Safaa, watching the opening credits roll across the flat screen TV with rapt attention.

Right. Their families. The reason they’re bothering to play nice at all. Knowing that Zayn is willing to pretend not to hate him to save him grief from their parents should make him feel better, but instead it makes something in Liam’s chest sink. Pointedly he turns his attention back to the movie, trying hard to ignore the way Zayn’s every movement creates new points of contact between their bodies and sends electricity sparking down his arm.          

 

People keep bowing out throughout the movie—first Doniya leaves, because she has an early shift at work tomorrow, and then the twins fall asleep and Louis carries first Daisy, then Phoebe next door to his house. Niall heads out to meet up with a girl from work he likes, Jade, and by the time George Bailey is singing “Auld Lang Syne” with his friends and family, Zayn and Liam are the only ones still there.

Liam has had sort of a lot of Gemma’s specialty mulled wine, so he doesn’t realize he’s staring until Zayn blinks and asks, “What are you looking at, Liam?”

“You,” he admits, his voice cracking a little. “I miss you. Us. I miss us.”

“Fuck, Liam,” Zayn growls. “I’m so fucking _mad_ at you.”

And then, before Liam has time to process, Zayn is kissing him hard.

This time, just like a few days ago in the kitchen, there’s nothing sweet about the way they collide. Zayn maneuvers Liam onto his back in seconds, hovering over him with the intensity of someone who’s thought about little else for months. “So mad at you, seriously, fuck you,” he mumbles, sucking marks into Liam’s neck near his birthmark, the jut of his collarbone, his shoulder.

Liam wants to apologize, wants to beg forgiveness, but he’s not convinced Zayn wants to hear it, so he settles for fisting his hands in Zayn’s hair and sighing into his mouth, praying that somehow, his body will convey what his words can’t.

“Hate you,” Zayn grumbles, grinding his hips against Liam’s hard enough to make him gasp and clutch tighter at his hair. “So, so much.”

Zayn snakes a hand under Liam’s shirt, rucking it up and trailing his fingers teasingly over his abs. Liam writhes at the contact, whining when Zayn moves his mouth to his chest, nipping and kissing teasingly. It’s nothing like the reunion he’s only ever dared to dream of at his most desperate, but it’s still Zayn’s mouth on his, Zayn’s hands in his hair, Zayn’s cock thickening against his through two pairs of jeans.

“God, Liam,” Zayn gasps into his mouth, and something about the vulnerability in his tone makes Liam still. He can’t do this, no matter how much he wants it. It’s not fair to either of them. He scrambles out from under Zayn, his chest heaving.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers, glancing up just in time to see Zayn’s face fall. Suddenly it feels like last February all over again, and he has to blink hard against the tears that gather in the corners of his eyes.

Zayn looks up at him, lips still parted and swollen from Liam’s kisses, and for just one moment, Liam can see all the pain of what he’s done reflected in Zayn’s eyes. Then, just like that, Zayn squares his shoulders and his expression smooths over. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Before Liam can say anything else, Zayn has shrugged into his coat and headed out the door, leaving him with love bites on his chest and neck and Zayn’s scent on his skin.

Tomorrow.

Christmas Eve.

Secret Santa.

_Fuck_.

 

_Liam wakes up in Zayn’s arms._

_They’ve been together for almost six weeks now, but it still feels brand new to be with Zayn, to kiss him awake in the mornings and bring him coffee in bed and hold his hand on the way to class. It’s amazing to Liam that he knows what Zayn sounds like when he’s second away from coming, knows what it feels like to have Zayn’s lips wrapped around his cock. Zayn has been a part of his life quite literally for as long as he can remember, but having him like this is entirely new and better than Liam could have ever imagined._

_He feels Zayn’s lips against the back of his neck, and he can hear his mumbling something—poetry, probably, words he doesn’t want to forget later._

_Words inspired by Liam._

_Yawning, he rolls over to face Zayn and is immediately bowled over by the sight that greets him. Even before they’d gotten together, he’d slept beside Zayn plenty of times, but there’s nothing quite like waking up next to him and realizing that Zayn loves him just as much as he loves Zayn._

_“You snore,” Zayn says, wrinkling his nose and making Liam laugh._

_“You know,” he teases, “I think you’ve told me that at least ten times since we first met, but I’ve never actually heard myself snoring.”_

_Zayn reaches out and flicks him gently on the forehead, laughing himself. “You can’t hear your own self snoring if you’re asleep, babe.”_

_“Really?” Liam feigns confusion. “That explains so much.”_

_“I love you, you know,” Zayn says in response._

_He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t need time to think about it. He’s known this for a while._

_“I love you too."_

Like always, they spend the morning of Christmas Eve surfing.

Well, Liam, Louis, and Niall spend it surfing. Harry and Zayn spend it huddled together in the sand, sipping coffee and looking vaguely miserable. They never get in the water—Zayn hates it and Harry, while he’s incredibly enthusiastic about the _idea_ of surfing, has proven over and over again that he’s a complete disaster on a board. Liam’s not totally sure what they actually do while they wait, other than talk.

“That was a bust,” Niall says sadly when, after almost two hours in the water, they admit defeat and paddle in.

Zayn squints out at the waves. “Was it?”

Louis barks out a laugh, reaching out to ruffle Zayn’s hair. “Fucking terrible, man. You can’t see how choppy it is?”

He can’t, they all know that. For whatever reason, probably because he’s never bothered to learn anything about surfing, Zayn is hopeless when it comes to reading the waves.

“Fuck off,” Zayn tells Louis, but he’s laughing as he attempts to tame his hair, which is a complete disaster thanks to the wind and Louis’s fingers.

“Breakfast, then?” Harry suggests cheerfully, because Harry’s the only one of them that’s truly capable of being cheerful this early in the morning.

Niall nods vigorously. “IHOP.”

“We always go to IHOP,” Louis whines. “Why don’t we ever go to Denny’s?”

“Because Denny’s has shitty pancakes,” Niall tells him.

“Denny’s has better everything else, though.”

“They’re going to argue about this all the way to IHOP,” Zayn mutters in Liam’s ear. Liam jumps. After last night, he hadn’t expected Zayn to speak to him today, and his stomach is in knots over the idea of giving him his Secret Santa gift later.

“What makes you so sure we’ll end up at IHOP?” Liam asks with a tentative smile. “I mean, I hear Denny’s has great everything else, whatever that means.”

“Because none of us can ever say no to Niall,” Zayn explains, and Liam can’t help but laugh at that, because it’s so damn true.

Sure enough, they wind up at IHOP, with Niall happily chowing down on his pancakes and Louis grumbling his way through an omelette that he doesn’t actually seem to think is that bad.

Liam, for his part, can’t really taste his strawberry crepes when he’s got Zayn’s shoulder pressing into his and Zayn’s breath whispering against his ear. He doesn’t know what to make of this. Zayn is acting like they’re back to normal, just two best friends who have never dated, never fucked, never been in love. It’s a relief, but it’s also painful.

“Are all four of you seriously trying to tell me that you have no idea who my Secret Santa is?” Louis asks, mock-glaring at each of them in turn like he thinks that if he conveys the appropriate amount of intimidation, one of them will crack and tell him what he’s getting. He tries it every year, and every year they refuse to tell him. This year, Liam really doesn’t know who has Louis’s name.

“I don’t know why you don’t believe that I’m getting you a pony,” Harry says, already snickering at his own joke. After a minute, Liam joins in, while Niall rolls his eyes and Zayn just smiles.

“I’m too big for a pony, Harold,” Louis says primly.

“I don’t know,” Zayn puts in. “Some ponies are pretty big. And you’re pretty small.”

Louis flips him off with one hand and shovels another bite of omelette into his mouth. Next to Liam, Zayn cackles with laughter and tucks his face into Liam’s shoulder.

This might actually be worse than having Zayn mad at him.

 

_“Liam!” Zayn’s voice echoes through the apartment, louder than usual and full of excitement. “Babe, where are you?”_

_Liam wanders out of the bedroom, fresh out of the shower in only his boxer-briefs, and even after almost a year, the way Zayn’s gaze darkens a little at the sight of him makes his heart jump. “Right here. What’s up?”_

_“It’s here,” Zayn says, waving an envelope in front of Liam’s face. “The letter.”_

The letter. _As in, the letter that will tell Zayn whether or not he got into his first choice graduate program. The letter that will decide whether or not they have a future._

_“Open it,” Liam urges, wrapping his arms around Zayn from behind and hooking his chin over his shoulder._

_“What if I didn’t get in?” Zayn asks, a note of vulnerability creeping into his voice._

_Liam gives him a peck on the cheek. “Lifelong career at Starbucks, probably. Or, you know, you could just go to one of your many second choices, all of which have already accepted you. But you’ll get in, Zayn. You’re the best writer I’ve ever read.”_

If you didn’t get in, you’ll stay with me, _he thinks. And as much as he wants that, he also hates the idea of Zayn not getting in, not getting the chance to follow his dreams._

_As Zayn carefully opens the envelope, Liam can see the slight shake of his hands, the way his breathing grows shallower. God, he wants this for Zayn. He wants it so much, because Zayn deserves it so much, has worked so hard for it._

_Zayn pulls the letter out of the envelope and both of them stare at it, eyes scanning the page for the words that will let them know one way or another. Liam spots it first, and he jabs at the paper excitedly, squeezing Zayn hard from behind. “Babe, you did it. You’re in, Zayn!”_

_At first, he can’t figure out why Zayn isn’t already screaming. He’s done it, gotten accepted into his first-choice graduate program to study creative writing. This fall, he’ll be moving across the country, starting a whole new life, leaving California behind._

_Leaving Liam behind._

_Leaving his family behind._

_“I mean, I haven’t committed yet,” Zayn says carefully, not looking at Liam. “UCLA is really good too, you know?”_

_And just like that, Liam knows what he has to do._

 

Halfway through Christmas Eve evening at the Twist-Styles home, Liam is still trying to figure out a way to avoid revealing himself as Zayn’s Secret Santa. It would all be so much easier if he could just leave the package on a table with no note as to who it’s from, but that’s not how they do it. Up until now, Secret Santa reveals have always been one of Liam’s favorite parts of Christmas Eve, but right now he mostly just wants to throw up.

He’s down to the wire—it’s nearly eleven p.m., and he still hasn’t given Zayn his gift. Almost everyone else already has theirs at this point, and he’s actually got the tie Louis’s mom got for him knotted loosely around his neck over his ugly sweater, just because. Everyone is laughing and chatting, sipping eggnog and hot chocolate and nibbling on Christmas cookies. Niall is leading a sing-along of Christmas carols on his guitar near the fireplace.

It’s all incredibly festive, and then there’s Liam.

Zayn wanders past him with a mug of coffee, in deep conversation with Doniya, and without thinking, Liam reaches out to catch his arm, smiling awkwardly when Zayn turns to him, eyebrows raised. “I, uh, need to give you something,” he says, grabbing the messily-wrapped package he’s been keeping in his back pocket and handing it over.

“You’re my Secret Santa?” Zayn asks, making no move to unwrap the package. Doniya has disappeared, probably to laugh about this with Gemma.

“Yeah.” Liam smiles awkwardly. “Go figure, right?”

Zayn begins to tear at the wrapping paper, and Liam wants to snatch the package back, wants to tell him that it’s a mistake, this is actually meant for someone else, but it’s too late, so all he can do is watch as Zayn opens the present and turns the beanie over in his hands, frowning down at it.

“I know Boston gets cold,” he says lamely. “And I’ve always liked you in beanies.”

He’s sort of wondering if Zayn’s going to slap him, but when Zayn’s hand does come up to touch Liam’s face, it’s unbearably gentle, and then Zayn is grabbing his hand and tugging him down the hall, leading him into the guest bedroom and slamming the door shut. Before Liam has time to process what’s going on Zayn has crowded him up against the closed door, their bodies pressed flush together.

“A fucking beanie,” he says hoarsely. “Really, Liam? A beanie?”

There’s nothing Liam can say, and even if there was, he doesn’t know what Zayn wants to hear, especially when his explanation is _I found it at the mall and it was the only thing that wasn’t stupid or painful_.

“I don’t want a goddamned _beanie_ from you,” Zayn hisses, his breath ghosting soft across Liam’s lips even as his words are harsh. “I’ve only wanted one thing from you for months, Liam.”

Liam swallows hard, steeling himself.

When the words come, they’re a whisper, small and broken but still somehow fierce. “I just want to know why you did it.”

Instead of answering, Liam kisses him. It’s a dick move, he knows it even as he does it, but he can’t say it, can’t bring himself to admit to Zayn what actually happened. His lips are only on Zayn’s for a second before he pulls away, and this time, there’s venom in Zayn’s voice.

“Fuck you, Liam. Just tell me why you cheated.”

Finally, finally Liam finds his voice. “I didn’t.”

Zayn stares at him, his eyes the darkest Liam’s ever seen them, his lips inches from Liam’s. “What?”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Liam says, louder now, more confident. “I know what you think you saw, but . . .”

“I saw you making out with Dani,” Zayn chokes. “That’s cheating.”

“Fuck, Zayn, I’m so bad at this,” Liam swears. “I did cheat, technically, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Zayn presses.

Liam has never wanted anything less than he wants to say what comes next. “You weren’t going to go to Boston. I had to do something to convince you I wasn’t worth staying in California for.”

He can feel the moment when Zayn puts the pieces together, when it hits him just what Liam had done. In a way, it’s like living the whole thing over again, watching the way the light in his eyes dies, the way his shoulders go slack. “Liam,” he croaks.

“If you caught me cheating,” Liam soldiers on. “I knew you’d go. I couldn’t be the reason you didn’t go.”

“Liam,” Zayn repeats, “that wasn’t your decision to make.”

And then Zayn is kissing him for the third time in five days, his hands coming up to cup the sides of Liam’s face as his hips hold him to the wall. When he pulls away from the soft, close-mouthed kiss, there are tears in his eyes.

“I couldn’t be the reason you didn’t go,” Liam says again. “Boston is your dream, Zayn. I hated the idea of you giving up your dream for me.”

“I wouldn’t have resented you,” Zayn tells him.

“ _I_ would have resented me,” Liam says miserably. “I still resent me. But you went to Boston.”

“Honestly, _fuck you_ ,” Zayn snaps, and then he’s kissing Liam again, harder this time, nipping at his bottom lip and making greedy sounds into his mouth. For a moment, Liam freezes, and then something inside him breaks and he kisses Zayn back hard.

After that, they don’t talk. It feels so good to be together again, no secrets between them. Liam uses his strength to switch them around, pressing Zayn’s back against the wall and kissing him sweetly, like maybe his kisses can make up for what he did. Hesitantly, he drops to his knees, lifting the hem of Zayn’s shirt to press a kiss to his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers. When he looks up, Zayn is staring down at him, eyes blown wide.

“Can I?” he asks, his voice catching.

Wordlessly, Zayn nods, and Liam immediately unbuttons his jeans, tugging them down and nosing along the length of Zayn’s semi through his boxers. It’s been so long, and he really, really doesn’t want to cry during sex, but being with Zayn again he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself.

Zayn tugs his shirt off over his head, revealing his thin frame, his abdomen littered with tattoos. Liam wants to kiss every single one of them, but first he needs to get his mouth on Zayn’s cock.

As a general rule he doesn’t particularly enjoy giving head, but with Zayn he loves it, because with Zayn he knows exactly what to do, exactly how to have him whimpering and writhing, struggling not to buck into Liam’s mouth. He knows how much Zayn loves the sight of his lips wrapped around his cock, and right now he wants nothing more than to blow him until his throat is raw and his jaw is aching and his heart finally, finally stops feeling so heavy.

He’s too far gone to truly be embarrassed by the whimper that escapes his throat at the sight of Zayn’s cock, mostly hard and glistening with pre-cum at the tip. He takes a tentative lick at the head, just to see if Zayn tastes the way he remembers, and fuck, he tastes better, feels heavier and fuller. Liam fists a hand around Zayn, pumping a few times to get him fully hard, and then he doesn’t hesitate, taking Zayn into his mouth in one swallow, nearly gagging when Zayn hits the back of his throat and loving it all the same.

Zayn groans, his hand scrabbling for a hold in Liam’s hair—it’s too short, and he winds up caressing Liam’s face instead, the gesture so sweet it makes Liam want to cry even more. After taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of Zayn in his mouth again he pulls off with a slurp, knowing Zayn likes it when he’s loud and a little sloppy.

“You taste so fucking good,” he gasps, his jaw already feeling the stretch. “Even better than I remembered.”

Zayn’s gaze is hot enough to set Liam on fire right now. “Did you think about this while I was in Boston?”

“All the time,” Liam admits. He’d hated himself for it, for the way his hand strayed to his cock so often when he thought about Zayn. It had felt wrong to get off thinking about the guy whose heart he’d broken, but it had felt worse to try to think about anyone else. “Every time.”

He swallows Zayn down again, nose brushing against the thick dark hair at the base of his dick. It doesn’t take long—he knows exactly what Zayn likes, has done this so many times before. He pulls off when Zayn comes, stroking him through the orgasm, still on his knees and just watching. Zayn is gorgeous like this, head thrown back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, hair a mess and lips parted.

He can’t wait any longer, so he get a hand on himself and jerks off quickly, never taking his eyes off of Zayn. There’s no finesse to it, nothing special, but it’s one of the best orgasms of his life because Zayn is right there, still coming down from his own orgasm.

They don’t talk as they clean up, using the t-shirt Liam had been wearing under his sweater, and suddenly, things feel off again. Zayn is still upset, Liam realizes, and he can’t blame him, but God, he’s not sure he can take any more ups and downs, even if the fault for all of them ultimately comes back to him.

“You shouldn’t have done that to me,” Zayn says suddenly, his voice thick. “You fucked me up, Liam. I don’t care if you thought you were helping. You shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know,” Liam whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“I have to get out of here,” Zayn tells him. “This is too much. I just . . . I can’t deal with this.”

He shouldn’t have to deal with it, because Liam shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

Merry fucking Christmas.

 

_“Liam, are you sure you want to do this?”_ _Dani asks, her brown eyes wide with concern.  
_

_Liam nods decisively, something like disgust clenching in his gut. “I have to.”_

_Dani doesn’t look sure at all, but she’s a good enough friend to know that talking about this won’t help him when his mind is already made up, so she just does what they’d discussed already, shoving Liam onto his back on the couch and crawling over him, her long hair brushing his neck, her lips inches from his. Outside the apartment door, Liam can hear Zayn’s keys clinking against each other on his key ring, and he closes his eyes._

_The apartment door swings open and Dani’s lips land on his, but all Liam can focus on his the way Zayn’s steps halt abruptly, the absolute_ silence _of it all._

_“Liam?” Zayn croaks, and Dani scrambles off of him. Liam sits up, feeling sick, and his eyes land on Zayn. He can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t move. All he can do is stare into Zayn’s eyes and wait._

_Zayn doesn’t say anything else, just turns and runs, and Liam bursts into tears. Dani pulls him into a hug, whispering soothing things into his ear, crying herself. He shouldn’t have dragged her into this, but he’d needed someone to help him, and he and Dani are just close enough for it to be believable that something had grown between them._

_“I did the right thing, didn’t I?” he asks Dani, and she just hugs him tighter._

_Two days later, Zayn posts a Facebook status announcing that he’ll be attending a graduate creative writing program at Boston University this fall._

Christmas morning dawns cold and cloudless, the sun rising over Boney Mountain and making absolutely nothing any clearer for Liam. He hasn’t slept at all, has stayed up all night scrolling through his phone and looking at old pictures. Zayn’s Secret Santa beanie sits on his nightstand, because he hadn’t wanted to leave it in Harry’s parents’ guest bedroom.

He hadn’t realized it was possible to fuck things up with Zayn even more than he already had, but clearly telling the truth had only made things worse. It had seemed like maybe they had a chance at being friends again, but after last night, Liam is pretty sure that’s not a possibility. He’ll be surprised if Zayn ever talks to him again, and he can’t blame him.

When his phone rings, Liam jumps, and when he sees Zayn’s name on the screen, his heart twists painfully. He can’t answer the phone fast enough, but when he finally raises it to his ear, he’s tongue-tied.

“Liam?”

“Hi,” he manages weakly.

“Did I wake you up?” Zayn asks. He sounds as ragged as Liam feels.

“I haven’t slept,” Liam admits, rubbing a hand over his face. His body feels exhausted, but with Zayn’s voice in his ear, his brain is whirling.

“Do you—could you come outside?”

Liam sits up immediately, scrambling off his bed and frantically looking around the room for a shirt to throw on. “Yeah, definitely, give me five minutes, I’m—“

“I’ll be outside,” Zayn says, and just before he hangs up, Liam thinks he can hear him chuckling.

When Liam practically throws himself out the front door a few minutes later, a hoodie thrown on haphazardly, Zayn is waiting for him at the end of his driveway, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers—a sure sign that he _really_ wants another but has already smoked way too many and knows he shouldn’t. As Liam approaches him he slows, unsure of just what Zayn wants.

“Walk with me?” Zayn asks, offering the barest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

They fall into step together, and Liam knows immediately where they’re headed. The park is their place, has belonged to them since they were four-year-olds who still needed encouragement from their parents—or from Louis—to go down the tallest slide. In the early-morning light the playground looks stark, the sand and jungle gym damp with dew. Liam kicks out of his boots and steps into the sand, relishing the way it shifts under his feet and embraces him. Zayn takes a seat on one of the swings and lights his cigarette, taking a long drag and avoiding Liam’s questioning gaze.

“Here’s the thing,” he says finally. “I’m still mad at you.”

Liam opens his mouth to apologize, again, but Zayn cuts him off. “No, don’t. You don’t . . . like, I already know you’re sorry, yeah?”

He’s not sure it’s possible for Zayn to know just how sorry he is, but Zayn has asked him to be quiet, and at this point, he’d do anything for Zayn.

Zayn takes another drag on his cigarette, then continues. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Liam. I miss you. So we have to figure this out.”

This time, it seems like Zayn has said what he needs to say, so Liam says, “I know you said I don’t need to apologize again, but fuck, Zayn, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, forcing you to go to Boston. That doesn’t make it okay, but I just wanted to see you live your dream, and if I’d been the reason you didn’t, I never could have forgiven myself.”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn whispers, tossing his cigarette into the sand and stamping it out with his foot before standing and taking a few steps toward Liam. “Why didn’t you just _talk_ to me about it?”

“I didn’t know how,” Liam sighs.

Zayn takes another step, closing the distance between them, and it’s the sappiest fucking thing he’s ever thought, but to Liam it doesn’t just feel like physical distance that’s disappeared in an instant. Instinctively, his hands come up to rest lightly on Zayn’s waist, and slowly Zayn reaches out and traces the line of Liam’s jaw. “Promise me something, yeah?”

“Anything.”

“Next time,” Zayn says, “next time, when you need to talk to me about something, just talk to me, yeah? Whatever it is, just spit it out. Promise me.”

Tears sting the corners of Liam’s eyes. “Next time?”

“Next time,” Zayn confirms, darting in to drop a sweet kiss on the tip of Liam’s nose. “I want a next time with you, Liam, and a time after that, and a time after that. I’m not saying I’m over everything that happened, but I will be, and I want us to move past it together, if that’s what you want.”

“What about Boston?” Liam asks.

“I’ve heard it’s called long distance,” Zayn laughs. “I’m willing to try it if you are.”

“God, yes,” Liam breathes. “Definitely. I’m . . . fuck, Zayn, this is—“

He’s still talking when Zayn kisses him.

 

The second hand of the clock sweeps steadily closer to midnight and new beginnings, but Liam already has the only new beginning he needs. Across the room, Zayn catches his eye and smiles, and Liam grins back, resisting the urge to blow a kiss because, according to Louis, that’s disgusting and _way too fucking coupley, honestly you two, get a grip._

“You did it!” Harry cheers, coming up behind Liam and slinging an arm heavily around his neck. “I knew you could do it, Liam.”

“Do what?” Liam asks, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist in return and supporting the taller boy’s weight. He’s fairly sober himself, but Harry is far past tipsy and will probably only get drunker as the night goes on.

“You and Zayn!” Niall pipes, appearing on Liam’s other side and tucking his chin contentedly over his shoulder. “You guys worked it out.”

“We’re happy for you,” Harry says simply, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“I’m happy too,” Liam tells them, grinning as he watches Zayn and Louis on the other side of the room, reenacting some story for the benefit of Louis’s mom and stepdad. “I’m still pinching myself. After everything I did to him, I never thought . . .”

Niall shrugs. “You love him and he loves you. Sometimes that’s all it takes, I think.”

“One minute to midnight!” Gemma yells, and Liam sees Zayn pat Jay on the shoulder and turn, his gaze catching Liam’s.

“I think that’s our cue,” Harry tells Niall, leaning in to smack a loud kiss to Liam’s cheek. “Happy New Year, bro.”

“Happy New Year,” Liam echoes. He pulls Harry and Niall into a quick group hug and catches Louis’s eye across the room for a wink, and then, suddenly, Zayn is in front of him and all around them their families are gathered, champagne and sparkling cider in hand, loudly counting down to the New Year.

_Five_ and there Zayn is, his hair slicked away from his face, cheeks stubbled, eyes bright and happy.

_Four_ and Liam reaches for him, tugging him into a fierce hug and burying his face in the crook of Zayn’s neck. “Love you, so much.”

_Three_ and Zayn pulls away from Liam just enough and tilts his head, lips parted, gaze steady.

_Two_ and they can’t help it, they’re kissing because they don’t care if it’s not midnight, they can’t wait a moment longer. Liam falls into Zayn, loses himself in the give and take of the kiss, the hint of champagne and cigarettes on Zayn’s breath, the way his shoulders move under Liam’s hands.

_One_ and, finally, Liam’s gotten it right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading all the way through my monster of a fic! I hope it hurt in the best way :)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. You can find me on tumblr at liuhmpaynes, and I'm always down to talk (or shriek incoherently over Liam, as the case may be).
> 
> Happy belated Holidays, my dears!


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